The Danger of Assumptions
by Center of Stone
Summary: Muggles know more than you think, Lord Voldemort. When Harry Potter loses his war, he takes off to train in muggle America. However, his arrival isn’t a secret and everyone is looking; aurors, double agents, and low and behold, Xander Cage. SLASH EDITED
1. Ready, Get Set, Go

**Author: **Center of Stone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Harry Potter series or the xXx film.

**Rating: **Mature

**Pairing:** Harry Potter/Xander Cage

**Note:** This is a response to **Serpent in the Shadow**'s Challenge #8. Ignores Harry Potter books after the Order of Phoenix.

**Beta Reader: **TheEveningStar

---**Secondary Note: ** After a far too long stop from updating this fanfiction, I have returned. However, I edited and rewrote some sections of the story and am sorry for the inconvenience. I took in consideration various comments and advice that my reviewers left me and I sincerely believe this version is better. Sorry it took so long. Life is full of good and bad things and mine more than most. However, I've finally outline the entire story, figured out how HP will win the war, and things should be easy skating until the end. For those of you who've been with me the entire time, thank you so much! For the new arrivals, I hope you enjoy. –

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The first time the Dark Lord Voldemort fell out of power, Harry James Potter was an orphaned child and a savior to an entire world. The first time that world ever contacted the Boy-Who-Lived; they ignored the silent bruised eyes that watched them go. The first time the twenty-five year old survivor watched one of his friends die, his heart shattered into pieces.

They say it is the first time that you always remember. No one ever speaks of the seconds, thirds, and so on that cling to your memory just as well.

It was the third time that so very cold green eyes watched a friend fall that he made up his mind. It was the second time the Ministry fell to corrupt hands that he started to make his move. It was the last time that he stood in front of the bastard gloating of victory that Harry James Potter disappeared from Britain all together.

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**:: Surrey, England :: **

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_Thud._

Blue eyes snapping open, twenty-five Dudley Dursley almost panted in terror. Making not a noise, he glanced hurriedly around his room, trying not to wake Leslie, his wife of four years. He'd met her after finishing school, working in her father's garage. She was kind, beautiful, and knew nothing of what lurked outside normalcy.

The portly man quickly shuffled out of bed and gripped the baseball bat he kept nearby. Magic, his father used to whisper to him in warning when the boy had gone to school, was the tool of the devil and was not something to be tolerated. Vernon Dursley, Dudley now admitted, was a delusional fanatical man who was lucky enough to have passed from a heart attack before he saw that his only son grew doubting of his wisdom. His mother, always fretting and worrying about the image of their family, was not much better before she passed.

Tip-toeing as well as a man of his size could, Dudley made his way out of the master bedroom of his childhood home. When his father died and his mother took ill, he couldn't leave the place. Now, with Leslie, it seemed like the only place that made sense to start a family. Turning down the stairs, his shoulders tensed and he prayed that whatever it was had only been a figment of his imagination. Grip tight on the bat; he turned into the kitchen, ears straining for the sound of movement.

There a swish of cloth and Dudley spun quickly, bat raised to the intruder in his home.

"Daddy?"

There in front of him was Mary, little Mary. Sighing in relief, Dudley put down his bat and hugged his little girl close. The child, no more than four, was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Almost every day, Dudley thanked whatever power was out there that she didn't inherit his sour disposition.

"Oh, sugar-plum. You scared me."

Lifting his child up, he grabbed the bat and turned to walk back up the stairs. Smiling slightly, he rubbed his noses with the sleepy smiling light of his life. "Lovely, what were you doing up and down here?"

With a bright smile, and a tug on her daddy's sleeve, Mary ignored his question and whispered in his ear. "Who is that, Daddy?"

Heart racing, Dudley spun around again, throat clenching in fear. There, near the cupboard under the stairs, was the boy, emerald eyes watching the sugar-coated scene in distain. Fear clenched in his bones and Dudley gripped onto the bat and Mary, hoping beyond hope that this was only a dream.

Harry Potter was no longer what anyone would call a boy. Standing there silently, the wizard looked cold and far more intimidating then anyone Dudley had ever seen before. Cold eyes flickered from him to Mary, a hint of surprise there, and then closed off. His stance was easy, hands empty but resting near thighs where, dear god, a long thin rod of wood strapped on one and a glimmer of sharp metal on the other.

Breath caught in his throat, Dudley stuttered out his response. "Mary, this is U-uncle Harry."

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Had anyone asked him, Harry would have told you that Dudley Dursley having spawn would be a really horrible thing right up there with kicking puppies. The only memories the wizard ever had of his cousin were of bullying and, then later on, cowardice as tendrils of the magic world reached in to rip Harry from the _normal_ life the Dursley's so cherished. Now, he was not so sure.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he watched as Dudley calmed down his child, gave her a drink of water, and waited as he went to tuck the toddler back in bed. Strange was the sight of Dudley being motherly. Swirling his tea, he took a sip as footsteps announced that his cousin was back.

Eyes flicking up, he watched as the large muggle gingerly sat across from him, analyzing the figure of his last blood relative. The baseball bat was gone, but Dudley had to be a fool to think that he didn't know what the large lump hidden under his shirt was. Hand gun. Small. Compact. Lethal. A brush to Dudley's mind confirmed it. His cousin had high taste. A Glock 19, compact, strong enough to put a hole through any human, muggle or not.

"Nice kid." His voice came out cold and humorless.

"Why are you here, Potter?" Dudley said weakly, not daring to look away from the wizard in fear of something, anything, happening. "Why did you come back?"

Holding back a burst of mocking laughter, Harry closed his eyes for a moment. His bones ached and his body refused to relax, standing alert. He could practically smell Dudley's fear in the air, and hated the fact that he really did not have time for this shit.

"I didn't come back for you, _cousin_." He snapped out, eyes opening again to stare at the muggle. "I left a few things here last time I came back and I need them. It is not in my intentions to stay. So, don't worry about it."

Dudley stared more, taking in Potter's weary state. The wizard was taller now, reaching almost 1.8 meters. Slender and lithe, he cut an imposing figure sitting there on Dudley's kitchen chair. Legs encompassed in a thick material that, for a moment and Dudley's shock, looked like leather. The robes Harry had for school was nothing like those he wore now. Instead, the long thatch of black cloth resembled a more of a trench coat then those silly uniform deals. Not for the first time, Dudley wondered what the hell happened to his cousin.

Tossing back the rest of the tea, Harry quickly made his way to his feet, moving back towards the cupboard. Over the last few years, he'd left stuff in his childhood room, knowing that few wizards would ever think to go back to his hated family's house. Inside that small dark space laid his way out of this godforsaken country.

"Harry." Dudley's voice was soft and, for the first time that night, without a tremor of fear. "What's going on?"

Pausing, Harry turned to his cousin, eyes shadowed. He might as well warn his cousin, if only for the child that rested peacefully above. "We are at war, Dudley."

Shocked watery blue eyes stared at him in fear and Harry could only look back in detached wonder. Had he himself looked so forlorn and green when this nightmare started? Starting, he continued on, his last words to his cousin almost echoing in the silent kitchen.

"I'd get the hell out of Europe, if I were you."

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**:: Parliament, England :: **

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"Sir?"

The Prime Minister of England was a man of many facets. Smiling geniality at his assistant, the graying man accepted the letter with an ease that hid his inner turmoil. The official seal that stood sharply against high quality parchment tempted him to just throw it away and forget the news it was sure to give him.

Magic was a dangerous thing.

The first time he ever saw magic was when he was a child, growing up to the stories and fears of post-war Europe. His crush, Victoria, so beautiful and mysterious, had fallen from a tree and broken her neck. The entire village had mourned for the child, however, the next day she was up and about again, fully healed. Victoria and her family were chased out of his life, neighbors proclaiming that they were devil-worshippers. He'd always thought it was a miracle and weren't miracles the work of God?

He found out about magic the night he became Prime Minister of England. The Ministry of Magic lacked subtly and tact in his opinion. They declared that they existed, they would always exist, and they might, just might (as if it were some barely considered option), need his help one day. Arrogant beyond all, the whole lot of them.

Oh, how those self-important wizards and witches would cringe to know how many loyal British subjects they had within their ranks. _Muggles_, they called them of all things. After his assistant left the office, the mask of smiles and elderly wisdom left the Prime Minister's face.

He was not as ignorant of the wizarding world as the Ministry of _Magic_ might wish. Cracking the seal, he browsed the letter. He knew the law, the history, and thus the weaknesses of the Ministry and its subjects. Lord Voldemort was not as intimidating as he might wish. An eyebrow rose as he read the news that was so urgently sprawled on the page.

So, that explains the lack of communication. With the Minister of Magic now being Lucius Malfoy, the game of intrigue and politics was just beginning. How better to start it with the perfect challenge. A wicked smirk briefly crossed the Prime Minister's face as he decided his next move. Harry Potter was on the run, taking his power and skills with him. The key pawn in taking down Tom Riddle's reign of terror had decided to high-tail it.

Let's see who catches him, wizards.

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**:: Somewhere on the West Coast of United States of America::**

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"Fuckin' Brits."

The red-headed American Auror cursed as he trudged through yet another muggle airport. His partner, a feisty blonde bomb-shell of a witch glared at him and flicked a red-coated nail in his direction. Sandy O'Toole was in no way a patient woman.

"Shut the hell up, Davis, and do your damn job."

The British, Thomas Davis swore, only caused bad things. They had bad teeth, spoke English the wrong way, and now had let loose Harry Fuckin' Potter in their backyard. Who was supposed to clean up the mess before the British self-named psycho Voldemort came to visit? They were.

Pulling out his badge with a glamour to look like the FBI's, which in Davis's mind was far cooler then the American Aurors' badge, he stopped in front of the girl waiting at customs. Overly dyed blonde hair, brown eyes surrounded by far too much kohl, mouth furiously chomping on a wad of bubblegum. All in all, the average high school drop out that worked at these digs.

"Ma'am?"

Cow eyes looked up at him, apathy practically dripping from them as the witness blew another bubble. Restraining from hexing the woman, he flashed his badge and painted on a charming smile. "We are here about your report."

Heavenly God above, Davis hated the Brits.

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**:: O-something California / Xander Cage's Loft :: **

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_Buzzt. Buzzt._

The sound of his cell phone vibrating was not something Xander Cage was excited to hear. In fact, it was one of the last things on earth he wanted to listen to this god-damn early in the morning. Groaning, he fumbled around with one arm, searching for it on his night stand.

An annoyed feminine moan startled him for a moment and he turned dark eyes to eye the sleeping chick perched on his other arm. Mentally cursing, he managed to free his arm and grab his phone. Standing up, he flicked it open, growling a greeting as he eyed the unknown woman. What the hell had he done last night? Well, other than her. Head pounding, he just barely caught the voice on the other end.

"X, I have something for you."

Eyes narrowing, the reluctant agent cursed his luck.

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	2. Planes, Muggles, and Darts

**CHAPTER 1 : **_**Planes, Muggles, and Darts**_

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**:: Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean :: **

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Entering America under a false identity was a lot easier then Harry Potter initially thought. Then again it was a big country with a lot of borders, shorelines, and a vast unwatched air space. Of course, it would have helped that he had magic on his side - if he could actually use it.

The first thing they always look for is his magical signature, inconsiderate bastards.

Hence the reason, the Boy-Who-Lived was sitting in the small cramped space on the over-packed tin box in the sky. If anyone asked him before the war if he liked flying, he would've have instantly said yes. Now, he shuddered at the experience that word brought to mind.

It didn't help that, in the general opinion of his neighboring muggles, he was a possible criminal. Seeing an up-tight old lady staring at him, he forced his face into a twisted version of a polite smile. From the look of disgust and caution in her eyes, he doubted it worked. The twenty-five year old slouched in his seat feeling like he was a schoolboy again.

"Look at him. All slouched over like a common criminal," the wretched woman harped to her harassed looking husband, her tone bringing to mind Aunt Petunia, which was _never_ a good thing. Throughout most of the seven-hour flight, he had heard comments on his hair, clothes, attitude, lack of reading material, and now his posture.

Oh, what he wouldn't do just to hex her silent.

Before it was never his plan to return to the muggle world. His memories before being introduced to magic and all the mind-blowing excitement that came with it were not at all pleasant. He knew he was biased, but the muggle world had never done anything for him. The brunette wouldn't say he had a grudge against it, at least not in the sense that the pureblooded supremacists did. However, it had been neutral and unimportant until now.

The war flared up not long after the horrible mistake that was his fifth year at Hogwarts. Looking back at it, he could only remember blurred moments; moments of fear, of sleepless nights, of the realization that this was _war_ in all of its pain and suffering.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry pulled his mind back to the present and the annoying old woman who was still glaring at him. The muggle world had changed since he was a scared eleven-year-old.

There was internet, laptop computers, television shows on everything and nothing, satellite phones, and a thousand other technologies that boggled his mind. It wasn't only the technology that had changed in the last fourteen years, but the culture. Apparently you didn't have to be a metamorphmagus to have brilliantly pink hair.

Imagine his surprise when he stumbled through one of the many paths between non-magical and muggle worlds. It had been after an ambush and he'd escaped and collapsed in the middle of what he'd later found out was a rave. Apparently wizarding battle garb had a sex appeal that he had not been previously unaware of.

Harry sighed as he stared out the small tiny window that showed him how far above the earth he was in the tiny tin muggle box. England was too dangerous at the moment with Voldemort controlling almost everything. Getting out of the country and out from under the eyes of the magical world was the only way he might be able to fix everything, to finally destroy Tom Riddle forever.

He just wished Hermione was there to tell him how to survive in the world he'd long since abandoned.

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**:: 1400 Pennsylvania Avenue :: **

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Lucius Malfoy was a powerful wizard and he knew it. With a handsome aristocratic face showing the benefit of his breeding, he'd been a prime example of perfection in time. It wasn't until the Potter child ripped the Dark Lord from power that fateful day in October that people dared to speak against him.

That in itself was enough for him to hate the last Potter child.

Now as he sat in an elegant suit, hair pulled back in the traditions of most pureblood Lords, staring the powerless worm in front of him, he had yet another reason to wish only pain upon Harry Potter. The dark wizard had no doubt that this was his punishment from his Lord for not taking care of the boy savior before the child ran away.

"_Lord_ Malfoy," The way that the _muggle_ drew out his name was on the border of insulting. "I am sure that you understand I cannot only focus entirely finding the missing Lord Potter, but I shall make it known and have my people search diligently."

Jaw clenching in frustration, Lucius nodded and exited the room with as much grace as he could muster. That filthy being dared to brush off his requests as though they were only insignificant _petitions_. The aristocratic wizard couldn't decide which was worse; pretending to tolerate that muggle or having fake concern for Potter.

Cold eyes watched as the proud figure of Lucius Malfoy left his office, mind already running. A cool half-smile crossed the muggle's face as he thought about what he learned. It had been his great surprise when _Lucius Malfoy_ requested a meeting, claimed to be a foreign dignitary who lost a ward. The aristocratic man had obviously not expected him to know the name or what that entitled, so he'd played down his knowledge. It was the underestimation from the purebloods that made him more relaxed about the affairs of England and it's Dark Lord Voldemort.

Information was a power that he believed far outweighed that of weapons or magic, and Lucius Malfoy just handed him a blessing in disguise. In the last twenty-four hours, Harry Potter was expected to run to his country for sanctuary from the war ground his home had become. That meant he had just enough time to find the boy and get all the information he would need to bring the United States of America out on top in this war.

He picked up a phone and pressed the number for his secretary. It barely rang before she picked it up, cool and professional as always.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

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**:: Los Angeles Airport ::**

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Jessica Hill hated her job. As she popped her bubble-gum, staring at the oncoming flow of arrivals to the great US of A, she lamented ever quitting community college. The only interesting thing that happened as she ran her customs line was the cute foreign men and the occasional adrenaline burst from seeing someone who looked like one of _them_. It was rare, but at times, she recognized a person from one of the many posters of possible dangerous criminals, people who she was supposed to report if they ever entered the country. She wasn't supposed to call attention to them in fear of creating a dangerous public confrontation.

Just yesterday a new picture was added to the list and she immediately memorized it. Not only was it listed under the highest classification, but the guy who looked out of that picture was beyond attractive. Oh, what she wouldn't do for him to stop by her lane.

Much to her embarrassment, she'd mistaken someone last night for the guy. Her heart had leapt and after ushering him out, she'd quickly phoned it in. A pair of FBI agents had appeared almost instantly and questioned her. It was then she realized she hadn't seen a scar on the guy's forehead. The redheaded agent, Danny or Davis or something of the like, had been a real prick about it.

Popping her bubble, she forced a plastic smile on her face as a cute guy in black rushed to her line, looking relieved to be on solid ground. With blonde-hair and a gorgeous pair of blue eyes, he definitely deserved a bright smile. As she ushered the man through with her finest manners and a flirtatious attitude, she never noticed the flicker of green in his eyes or the silvery scar that was almost invisible on his forehead. As she waved him off, a small, relieved smile crossed his face.

Harry Potter had made it to America.

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**:: Empty Theater , Los Angeles ::**

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"Should I be thankful I didn't get a dart in the ass this time?"

Xander Cage growled out, his baritone voice echoing in the empty theater where Agent Gibbons waited. Rows upon rows of empty seats and a completely empty auditorium seemed to be the preferred setting for debriefings with the NSA. Scarface himself sat there all prim and proper and pissing the hell out of the borderline criminal. The phone call at eight in the fucking morning did nothing to cheer up the reluctant NSA agent.

It especially didn't help that it had woken up his _friend_ from last night. Who, upon seeing him try to sneak the hell out of her sight, had practically jumped his bones. Xander promptly managed to screw that opportunity up. How the hell was he supposed to know her name? Last night was a blur of alcohol, dancing, and forgetting. He doubted the chick would have known his if not for a bit of fame. Why was it so hard for women to accept that he liked sex and, once that was over, was content to get the hell out? Having a shoe chucked at his head was definitely not as good as what could have been goodbye sex.

Dropping into the seat next to the still silent NSA agent, Xander took a casual gaze around.

"So, still have your fetish for empty theaters?"

Jaw tightening, Gibbons turned to face him, a look of distaste on his face. "You look like shit, X."

For a moment, Xander said nothing, powerful jaw clenching as he stared at the man that dragged him into all this bullshit in the first place. If it weren't for the adrenaline, he'd say fuck it and go to prison.

For the last year, the NSA hadn't called him to do anything big. Apparently, stopping a virus that could've killed millions gave him some vacation time. Bora Bora and Yelena, wasn't that supposed to be the thing fantasies were made of? Bora Bora ended quick enough and hot spunky Yelena became cautious timid Yelena who demanded far too much. Xander Cage did not do picket fences and shared bank accounts. She still left her mark, though. Who would have thought that he'd miss that dangerous Russian spice in his life?

"Fuck you, Gibbons." Xander hissed out, eyes narrowing. "What the hell do you want?"

"Here." Gibbons handed him a file, eyes going back to the empty stage. "This one allows you to stay right here. An illegal alien from Britain has been rumored to be heading this way. He has information that is _delicate_ at best. The NSA wants you to keep an eye out and tell us when he shows up on your grid."

Xander raised an eyebrow, looking at the file. "You're screwing with me. I doubt whoever this guy is will show up in the circles I hang out with."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." Gibbons said, a smirk on his scarred face. "I think you will find that Potter is your kind of people. Dangerous. Criminal."

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	3. Agents, Boxes, and Parties

**CHAPTER 2: **_**Agents, Boxes, and Parties**_

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**:: Malfoy Manor, England :: **

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After nearly sixty years of fighting, Tom Marvolo Riddle was not pleased with finally succeeding with taking over the British wizarding world. Oh, the Dark Lord had felt an initial thrill of subversively taking over the ministry, but it was nothing like he would have expected. Clenching a hand around his wineglass, he glared at the gardens of the Malfoy Manor from the balcony of the master suite. It was as if the perfect blooms of lilies and roses were mocking him.

It was all Harry Potter's fault.

A paltry wizard, barely out of boyhood, made the taste of victory go sour in his mouth, made what should have been a moment to remember a plague on his thoughts. The wineglass shattered in his hand and chilled wine ran over his fingers. Crimson eyes looked down at the liquid that flowed over his hands not unlike life-blood.

It was time to expand out his endeavors and move from the isle that was Britain. It was time that the World trembled at the mention of his name and feared to even utter a word in his presence. A cool half-smile crossed dangerously handsome features as the most feared Dark Lord lifted his hand, tongue licking up the beads of wine left on his fingers.

His life had been taken from him. His power had been taken from him. However, he had persevered. He'd taken back his power, beaten a _true_ prophecy, and masked himself once again in the visage of the dark wizard that he had always been. He was no longer a half-dead being who could barely be called a wizard. It was time to expand his power and with that finally eliminate Potter.

He turned, hand reaching out, wineglass flitting back together and resting in his palm. It was time to send in a more _effective_ wizard then Lucius to find the Potter brat wherever the little cockroach had scuttled off to. Lucius had long since become a…disappointment. Soon, there would be no need for the pureblood. His free hand flicked out and a house elf appeared, pale and trembling in his presence.

"Send for Zabini and his crew. Now."

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**:: A Hotel, Los Angeles :: **

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The sounds of footsteps on the stairs had his arm tensing, hand clenching around the straight razor. Eyes alert and body ready, the hardened wizard stared at his reflection in the mirror as he listened to whoever it was stumble passed. Harry Potter didn't know what was so special in the alert and terrified features of the wizard that stared back at him, halfway through the shaving. A sigh of relief escaped him as the footsteps faded and the fear that he had been _found_ left him. A shaky hand raised the razor to continue the menial task of shaving that had been interrupted.

It had only been a few days since he'd arrived in Los Angeles, in America, and already the British wizard hated it. It wasn't the people or the actual places that made him loathe being in the foreign country. No, it was the fear and despair that clawed at his stomach like a wild animal caged. It was the knowledge that even though he was safe for a moment, it wouldn't last. It never would.

Flicking the water from the razor, the so-called savior wondered just how close they were to finding him. Skating under the veil of the muggle world would not hide his tracks from _him _and his followers for long.

His current haven was the cheapest motel that he could find in the darker part of the giant city -and it showed. Yellowing wallpaper, ancient metal chairs, and enough stains on the bed to tempt him to use magic, to hell with the consequences. The woman who had leered and offered him company for the night had remarked on the remarkably cheap price for the room. For some reason, the wizard doubted it was worth the amount he paid for it. Suspicious stains were spread across the carpet that it came to resemble a twisted polka-dotted pattern. Bars on the window and multiple locks lining the door loomed ominously as the night sounds of the city played mind games with the wizard.

Emerald eyes flickered to the full-length mirror that haphazardly rested against one wall. In it, his reflection glared back at him. Clad only in a towel around his waist, the wizard hadn't seen this much of his skin in a long while. A tan hand rose tentatively to trace a particularly long scar that ran over a sharp hip-bone.

Most of the scars on his body came from his enemies, those who hunted for his blood. That one though - that had been drawn into his flesh, scraped into bone - had been from someone far differently. It turns out that everyone _does_ have their price.

Turning sharply, he left the bathroom to get dressed. This was not the time to reminisce. His plans were just starting. He just needed to blend in, find those who could help him with his quest without knowing what he was going to do. The first step was complete.

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**:: Unknown Location :: **

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The fact that the Ministry of Magic had fallen to the Dark Lord had not gone unnoticed as much as the Dark Wizards would have liked to imagine. It had happened quickly and without a fight, but it had still happened. The mere fact that the Dark Lord thought that they knew nothing was positively arrogant.

It was also what could save them all.

A dark smile crossed his features as he silently communicated to his team. They were the last front that the true Ministry had. The Dark Lord failed to realize their threat; and therefore they were not eradicated. The possibility that they might discover something _useful_ to his cause outweighed anything else. Some mysteries of magic were darker than anything a Dark Lord could imagine.

The crack of apparition or the trail of a portkey did not register as six pairs of boots landed on foreign soil. Not a sound was passed as he passed on his orders, eyes glinting and the flash of glass flashing. Hands twisted, and in seconds, the team dispersed. There were Magics that few people on earth knew, that no one should know.

At the moment, they were focused on one goal and only one; finding Harry Potter and dragging him back to finish a job he _really_ shouldn't have left undone.

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**:: Old Warehouse District, Los Angeles ::**

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Kicking the door closed behind her, J.J. mentally slaughtered her ex-assistant again. Cursing aloud, she quickly made her way towards the elevator of the renovated warehouse she called home, arms full carrying a box of tapes. The only thing stopping her from literally slaughtering the bastard when she found him was the fact she worked from home. Blonde beaded braids and her customary black tank and jeans were as symbolic as the name she had. J.J. was a tough cookie. She was unique, had attitude, and was no pushover. So, when fucking Max La Blanche suddenly quit and dropped off the map, she was not pleased and silent about it.

Legally and on all her properly filed IRS tax forms, she was Jennifer Wilburn, nothing more than a Nobody who worked for an online ghost company. It proclaimed that she was nice, normal, and no one would ever be interested in look closer. Ever. However, Jennifer Wilburn was nothing more than a paper cover that hid J.J., leading agent for illegal extreme sports athletes and borderline criminals, from the prying eyes of serious authority figures.

It was hard enough running an underground website, supplying the world with her videos, and trying to find Xander-fucking-Cage, without her messenger boy running off. Spitting out another curse, she deposited her armload and stalked back to the car.

It was on the way back that she ran into a problem, literally. Apparently balancing two boxes on top of one another blocked her sight a bit too much. She felt more then saw the body that she smashed into and with a curse fell to the ground, tapes scattering on the sidewalk.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

Pain exploded in her palms from where she caught herself and for a moment, J.J. wondered why the fuck she got out of bed that morning. Just who the _hell_ had she run into? Pushing herself up, a sharp insult on her tongue, J.J. froze as she stared at the man who'd caused her to fall down. For a moment, her mind blanked before a leer crossed her features. Oh, well now, he was _fine_.

Dazed emerald eyes, inky black hair, supple lips, a jaw that could cut glass, and a body that could run into her _anytime_. The man responsible for her crashing unannounced to the floor blinked at her for a few seconds, shoulders tense, before he spoke, a British accent crisp and clear. Oh, could she keep him?

"Are you okay?"

Harry asked cautiously, staring at the woman who gazed back at him like he was meat. His body was tense, alert and ready to bolt if she attacked him or something of the like. He'd decided that the easiest way to blend in, to find the kind of connections he desperately needed, would be to find a job in the shadier parts of muggle life. After an entire day of wandering through the darker places of L.A., he'd come to find that nobody was hiring or talking, at least not to people who came without recommendations. His mood had gotten dark as he wandered the streets, searching and thinking. Which, now that he looked back at it, was not a good idea as it seemed to involve him bowling over pedestrians.

The woman seemed to snap out of it, brown eyes narrowing in his direction. "I'll be fine as long as you help me pick this shit up."

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

Fifteen minutes later, he'd helped the woman bring all of her cargo into what turned out to be her apartment. After picking up what looked like scattered tapes, he'd offered to help her out since colliding with her had been his fault. Now, he just stared at her awkwardly wondering what to do next. The place was gigantic with scarred hardwood floors, a seemingly random scattering of sofas. Large televisions hung off various walls and an assortment of strange ramps that turned out to be for a muggle sport called skateboarding took up an entire corner.

Well, this was uncomfortable. J.J. wasn't sure what she thought of the oddly polite man in front of her. He was attractive, clean-shaven, had no apparent ink, and had the manners of an old man. Yet, those leather pants and tank top that clung to a very toned torso belonged on no wet-behind-the-ears naive schoolboy. He was a very sexy, very awkward man and, though she knew that didn't make him trustworthy, she was willing to go out on a limb.

"Name's J.J. Now, who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in this part of Los Angeles?"

For a moment, Harry stared at the very blunt woman in front of him in consideration. Currently, the chances of him finding what he wanted in the muggle world were practically nothing. He had no idea of where to look or how to look, not in this alien world. This woman, J.J. might actually be a blessing in disguise. "My name is Harry. I was just in the area looking around for a job."

A cool smile crossed J.J.'s lips as she stared at him. The day that had started off as a nightmare had just turned around.

"Perfect. Now, do you like parties?"

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**:: Xander's Loft, ****Ojai****, California, USA ::**

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

What made this kid so special? The only picture in the file was that of a young teen, maybe fourteen or fifteen at most. Green eyes, black hair, scrawny. Nothing special or unique about him. The file mentioned a scar looking like a bolt of lightning on his forehead. It was actually quite specifically mentioned, but Xander couldn't see anything important about it. He couldn't see anything important about the kid in general.

Of course, the nuisance, also known as Harrison James Potter, was not a kid. Apparently, he was now twenty-five, dangerous, and had information that Gibbons was hot and bothered about.

The file said he grew up in some suburb, disappeared from school at 11, and apparently just appeared on the grid again now. So, the guy had fourteen years to do **something** that painted a nice big red target on his forehead.

He tossed the folder on his kitchen table next to some take out boxes. This was ridiculous, but at least he wasn't getting shot at by a crazed fanatic. His cell phone vibrated, drawing his attention. Picking it up, J.J.'s name flashed on the display. Flicking it open, he stared at the table. What had his life become?

"Why the hell aren't you at my party yet, X?"

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**:: J.J's Apartment, Old Warehouse District, Los Angeles :: **

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

Harry Potter was uncomfortable and did not like it one bit.

J.J. had turned out to be almost exactly what he was looking for. The abrasive woman didn't even ask for his last name, but instead told him he'd be paid in cash every week as long as he didn't fuck up or ask questions about what she was doing. Apparently her work was _sensitive _which even in his world that meant criminal. From what little she told him, she wasn't a magicless equivalent of Riddle, but that was not what he'd been looking for. He just needed a foot in the metaphorical door and then the plan could begin.

The wizarding savior ran a hand through wild ear-length hair in contemplation before tossing back another shot of something sweet that numbed his tongue and burned down his throat. What he did from now on was vital to the survival of everything he loved and here he was at a party. Muggles were so _odd. _

The party that J.J. invited him to was similar, yet dissimilar to those in his world. It seemed to be a more glorified version of the times when alcohol, sex, and mindless movement were the only ways to calm fried nerves and stop the empty ache inside. Those times when it didn't matter if you were man, woman, werewolf, or anything at all. A moment of feeling, a brief instant where one _almost_ felt normal was all that counted. Sharp emerald eyes narrowed as he took another shot, the burning in his throat moving to rest in his stomach. It had been almost a year since it was safe enough to forget and just feel.

A throbbing beat of music caused tremors to quake through the floor and walls, echoing in his body as he leaned back against the bar. The electronic pulse that wordlessly electrified the writhing crowd of people in front of him was something completely new, however. The so-called dancers moved and surged, their movements resembling far less innocent acts then dancing. Another shot of burning liquid made its way into his stomach before he moved on to a glass that smelled of candy and tasted nothing like the magical alcohol he was used to. The wizard restrained himself from moving to join the anonymity and pretending for just a moment that the weight of the world wasn't resting on his shoulders.

The mass of dancers in front of the would-be savior surged as the tempo changed and a brave stranger spotted the wallflower. Blonde blue eyed, the man smirked confidently at the silent unmoving guest of the infamous J.J, leveling a challenging stare at the man. A tense gaze stared back at him, calculating and cautious, as the leather clad mystery man finished his drink and seemed to come to a decision. In a moment, the confident smirk on the blonde's face broke as the unknown guest stepped forward, body moving with unsuspected grace.

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

J.J. watched with a smirk from her place talking with possible sponsors as her wickedly attractive messenger boy drifted among her guests. H was going to break hearts and shatter restraints. She just knew it. Her gaze was drawn away from her employee as a noticeable wave of excited giggled passing through the groupies near the door caught her eye. Her smirk changed into an irritated frown as she turned away and forced her way up close and personal with her star athlete.

"You are late, X."

Xander chucked, the sound low and gravely in his chest, as he winked as his manager. A black and red sleeveless shirt clung to a thick muscled torso and his customary thick biking pants did nothing to hide the power in his stature. J.J. hadn't changed a bit, shoving obvious groupies and whores out of her path.

"Just being fashionable," the athlete stated gravelly, eyes looking over the crowd of dancers moving like a single being. "So, what was so important about this party?"

The infamous sly smirk that was a trademark to J.J. crossed her features once again. "Well, first I knew there was no fucking way you'd meet with me without ho's and alcohol near. So, here they are. Besides, free publicity is a dream." She paused for a moment. "But, seriously, I need to know if you have plans for any new tricks, X. It has been almost a year since Xander Zone has gotten any new footage."

Jaw clenching, Xander stared at one of the few people he called friend in front of him. Tricks. She was asking for _tricks_. Saving the world took the adrenaline out of activities that didn't involve life, death, and being a fucking hero. Fuck Gibbons. Instead of telling J.J. that though, he shrugged. "I will tell you when I know."

"Fine. Be that way." J.J. shrugged as she watched Xander Cage closely. Something had been off with the normally carefree powerhouse of a man for more than a few months. "I'll let you enjoy the party for now. Don't do the whores."

Xander watched with amusement as the blunt woman stalked off. It was almost sweet how his manager resisted asking him questions he knew she was dying to bombard him with. Brushing it off, the agent scanned the party once again, eyes resting on a woman who was staring lustfully and wishfully at someone..

Following her gaze, Xander stopped breathing for a moment as he caught sight of _him_.

Dancing had always been almost a drug to Harry. It was almost as natural as flying and almost as addictive. Alcohol fogging his thoughts, he'd long since given in to temptation. Eyes at half-mast, he stared unseeingly at one of his partners, body moving unconsciously to the foreign music. His startling white teeth bit into his lower lip as his hand slipped into the long hair the woman in front of him. Dazed eyes stared into his for a moment before the woman closed them in a gasping moan, his hand pulling her head back to expose a pale neck. One of his legs forced its way between hers, rocking hips together in parody of a different act. Leaning forward, his teeth let go of his lip to ghost near her skin, never quite touching. She fell back, arching in his touch as his breath caressed her sensitive neck.

Strong hands pulling his hips backwards distracted the wizard. His grip loosened from the spellbound woman and his focus moved on. Without a conscious thought, he released her and twisted gracefully around in the grip of the hands to see who dare consider themselves strong enough to lead. Brown hair spiked aggressively, metal piercing ears, teeth, and as the man flicked his tongue out lewdly, there as well. Brown eyes looked deep into his eyes in lust and practically screamed possession as a strong hand strayed from his hips pulling him as close as physically possible.

A half smile crossed Harry's features as one of his hands trailed down to cover those pulling him closer to the man. A brief moment of surprise on the stranger's face as the wizard quickly gripped and twisted one arm abruptly behind the others' back, forcing the muggle to arch closer to him, surrendering any control he may have had. Emerald eyes swam in his vision as the wizard leaned closer, breath almost unbearably warm. Sharp teeth once again gripped his bottom lip as he leaned in to nuzzle under the other's ear.

He was stopped almost there and was twisted and turned abruptly, arms deftly pulled and trapped behind him. A leg forced its way between his and he looked up to see confident eyes staring into his own. Startled, Harry gasped as his body was quickly bent to arch and close the distance between him and this new exciting stranger. His mind stilled and slowed as the man's free had slid under his shirt to rest at the small of his back, almost painfully searing on his skin, warm breath ghosting over his ear.

This man was no ordinary man. Towering over his own average height, his body was muscled, coiled, and screamed danger as it pressed tightly against his own. The wizard was practically cradled in muscled arms. From what he'd seen briefly, a sharp jaw line gave way to sharp cheekbones, a scalp oddly free of hair and intriguing face. A wicked smile crossed that strongly handsome face as the mystery man began to rock closer to him in time to the low beat. The wizard tugged fiercely on his arms, wishing for some control as a low gravelly voice whispered in his ear, words penetrating the warm fog of alcohol and causing the world itself to start to spin.

"I've caught you."

The vision on the dance floor blinked up at him, emeralds stunned as Xander forced the wild spirit to his will. A wicked smile crossed his features as the unnamed man stopped resisting, becoming pliant for a moment in his arms. From the first moment he saw him on the dance floor, it was like a fire had ignited Xander's blood; for the man had not been just dancing but _challenging_ anyone and anything. He'd watched as the other moved from person to person, as the brunette danced and danced as though it were as important as breathing, as living.

Emerald eyes focused and stared into his as he shifted their bodies slightly, moving to steal a kiss from those lips that were so worried by the man's own teeth while he'd danced.

As a feeling of vertigo settled into the pit of his stomach, Harry felt the man lean in to seal their lips together, but managed turned his head at the last moment. A small spark of anger tried to flare up but failed as the edges of his vision darkened. Narrowed eyes stared at him as he tried to move away the powerful man who held him immobilized. As his mind started to shut down, he looked straight into honeyed eyes.

"That doesn't mean anything."

With that, Harry Potter passed out in the arms of an irritated yet enticed Xander Cage.

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note:** This is where a lot of my rewriting becomes apparent. I was not satisfied with why HP was looking for a job, a lot of my dialog, or how exactly the party was written. One reviewer had stated they were amazed at how quickly HP got drunk. So, I rewrote some more shots of alcohol and definitely fixed up HP and X's meeting.


	4. Hangovers, Cows, and the USPS

**CHAPTER 3:** Hangovers, Cows, and the United States Postal Service

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**:: J.J's Apartment, The Old Warehouse District, Los Angeles:: **

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

Drinking any quantities of alcohol had never been a strong point of Harry Potter's.

Quickly gaining consciousness, he became aware of two things: his skull felt like a herd of hippogriffs stampeded through, and he hadn't woken up for his normal nightmares in the run-down hotel that he was currently calling home. The unbelievably comfortable and warm bed would have made him moan in contentment if not for the hellish pain taking up residence in his cranium. What the hell had happened last night?

He remembered being given a few strong drinks before finally loosening up enough to go dancing. After that, he just remembered colors, faces, and bronzed iron-strong arms. It was then he was startled out of this thoughts when a heavy arm was suddenly put across his chest as someone turned over and burrowed into his neck, warm breath making his hair stand on end in shock. Eyes snapped open, ignoring the initial pain of daylight, to focus on what appeared to be a cow.

To be more specific, it was a pink cow tattooed to a very familiar bronzed arm that happened to be connected to a man the startled brunette had memories of dancing with the night before. What the _hell_ had happened last night?

Xander Cage was unbelievably relaxed as he nuzzled into his bedmate's neck. Breathing in a delicious scent of sweat, skin, and something he couldn't figure out, the athlete barely registered that the distinctively male body pressed against his side tensed up in shock. However, he was more than aware of a sharp elbow meeting his ribs and the world spinning as he rolled off the bed.

"What the fuck?!"

Was the annoyed growl as he pushed himself up on his elbows, pain spreading through his chest, to stare up at the glaring figure of J.J.'s new messenger boy. The previous night the other man had passed out in his arms while dancing. He distinctively remembered bitching at J.J. as he ended up carrying the unconscious man to her spare room before heading back to the party. Shit. Taking in account the slight ache of a hangover, he must have forgotten that the spare room was occupied and crashed on the bed with the guy.

"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing with your bloody cow arms around me?!"

Harry hissed out as he slid backwards off the bed, ignoring the aching pain in his head. He tensed up as he quickly took in the pretty plain room and the glowering tower of muscle that was pushing himself off the floor. Nothing seemed to be out of the place. His clothes were on, even his boots for that matter. Nothing ached suspiciously, so he wasn't about to scream rape even though he itched to have his wand in his hand to hex his uninvited bed guest.

"Just wait a second there, Sparky." Xander growled out as he woke all the way up and deciphered the annoyed words that had been practically screamed at him. "Relax. I had been sleeping before you woke me with your damn elbow. What the hell do you mean by 'cow arms' anyway?"

"It's Harry," Harry hissed out as he calmed down slightly seeing as he doubted this muggle was out to kill him. "Not Sparky or any other annoying nickname. As for 'cow arms' what was I supposed to think when I wake up to your arm wrapped around my bloody neck branded with a tattoo of a cow?"

"Hey, don't insult Ferdinand," Xander quipped as he lumbered to his feet. Ignoring the paranoid messenger, he yawned wide enough to crack his jaw and stretched out his arms above his head, cracking his back. Hiding a smirk, he was well aware of those green eyes trailing along his body as he completed his morning ritual. "He's a manly bull. And it's Xander. I was kind enough to drag your sorry ass to this room after you passed out on the dance floor."

Harry glared at Xander as the other seemed to purposely show off an impressive physique, stretching muscled arms that he vaguely remembered effortlessly holding him against hot bronze skin. Everything of the non-magical man seemed to scream of physical power and internal fire. A flicker of heat tried to settle into his body and stir life to parts of him that really had no business waking up and he had no time for. Ignoring this, he silently watched as the other finished shamelessly stretching and ambled towards the door.

"I wonder if J.J.'s made any breakfast yet."

The small bedroom opened into a cozy living room with carpet that seemed to demand that toes sink in for a moment. Two doors and one empty doorway lead off of that. Trailing behind the giant of a man, Harry wondered only for a moment where exactly he was.

The savior of the wizarding world was slightly mortified to walk through the door way and see his new employer sitting at an empty bar in the large room he remembered being packed with people for her party. Dressed in baggy pajama pants and a new tank top that showed off her own gold skin, J.J smirked at the two of them as she munched on her bowl of cocoa puffs.

"Really, X. I know I said the whores were off limits, but did you have to sleep with my newest employee?" She stated, gesturing between the two of them with a spoon. "He needs to be able to run some errands for me today. He can't do that if he is too sore to walk!"

"Relax, J.J." Xander smirked, voice husky and low. He flashed a lewd smirk at the interesting brunette that had cautiously followed him out of the spare room, a death glare on that admittedly attractive face. "I haven't screwed him...yet."

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**:: a Los Angeles Post Office ::**

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

With a leather bag slung over one shoulder, the savior of the wizarding world walked methodically through the streets of Los Angeles on J.J.'s errand. That morning hadn't passed well. It was a mixture of hangover headache and the continual sexual innuendoes slung at him from both his boss and the annoying prick that turned out to be one of J.J's main cash cows. The idea of only playing extreme sports as a career brought around bad memories of lost dreams.

Before the war had started, Ron had wanted the two of them to be professional Quidditch players with fame and fortune. Eventually, his enthusiastic friend stopped mentioning glorious dreams of riches and grand world tours; in time, the redhead started talking about war plans and strategies. Staring at the passing street, the silent brunette ignored the bittersweet memories as he stalked on. It had only been two years since the other had died and it still ached.

He needed to stop letting his guard down around the muggles. Ever since he'd made it safely to Los Angeles, he'd relaxed slightly and he knew it. Yesterday shouldn't have happened the way it had. He shouldn't have relaxed at all. It would only take one person knowing who he was to make all of their planning and work become less then shit.

He had too many people to kill to allow that to happen.

So, next time Xander Cage came around, he'd make sure the other knew exactly what was what. He had no time for forgetting and no muggle would be able to keep him safe from the forces of Tom Riddle.

J.J. had unknowingly done him a favor as she sent him out on this errand. Apparently, the mail from her online website was directed to a local P.O. box in the local office. Entering the building, Harry didn't notice the watchful eyes of a man across the street as he went to retrieve the mail. Bernie Fisher was very interested to make note of the new messenger for the suspected underground website owner before he moved on to his other posts. As one of the few plainclothes in the area, he had bigger fish to fry then a gofer for the queen of underground adrenaline junkies.

Harry Potter almost smiled as he walked out of the post office with a bag full of J.J's packages and one package that only had 'Potter' written on it in black ink.

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

"Don't screw around with H."

Xander stopped on his way out of the apartment to turn to stare at J.J. in mild confusion. His manager looked at him seriously from her perch on the stool she was sitting on. Before he could speak, she continued.

"I know something is up with you, X. Hell, anyone can see that." She sighed. "You really need to sort out what's going on in your head. You've been different since that raid on the party. That was practically a life time ago. Disappearing for a few months and then you come back and don't do anything the same. You party different. You drink different. You live differently. You don't do any tricks."

Xander only stared at her blandly. He'd expected this conversation sooner. He hadn't been the same and knew he was failing at trying to pretend. J.J. just stared at him for a minute or two, as though expecting him to reply, before sighing once again.

"Whatever it is, don't fuck with Harry or anyone else here for that matter." She slid off her stool before walking forward to give him one-armed hug. "I love ya like a brother, but you need to sort your shit out and, if you decide to, come back to this. Now, get the hell out of my house."

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**:: Suburbs of Los Angeles ::**

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

"What did you tell the American FBI agents?"

Jessica Hill trembled as the cold British voice asked the same question once again. Under other circumstances, she would have found the owner of that voice to be attractive. However, as it was the customs worker stared at emotionless exotic man in fear and horror, limbs shaking as much as they could, tied to the legs of her chair.

Three others had followed him when he'd forcefully entered her apartment. It seemed insane, but her door had been blown off the hinges and it was as though a giant hand had pinned her to her dining room chair before ropes appeared out of nowhere. The dinner she'd been previously been eating lay splattered across the table, which had been flung into the corner without anyone touching it.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she pleaded with the glacial figure in front of her. Her eyes widened even more as a wicked blade seemed to materialize in his hand.

"You will tell me all that you know of Harry Potter and exactly what you said to those agents." Black eyes flickered from the others who watched from behind the terrified woman and back to the frightened brown eyes of the muggle. A source within the American Aurors had reported two of their partners being called to interview the chit. A wicked glint entered his eyes and heat seemed to emanate from his words.

"You will tell us even if I have to tear it from your feeble mind."

A silent scream came from the muggle woman's throat as Blaise Zabini set to work. Fear and pain made the images that much sharper.

**-----------------------------------------------------xXx-----------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note: **I did introduce a few of my favored plot ideas in a bit quicker. I do believe it is because I have taken so long in between chapters that I tend to forget that very little time in the story timeline has actually progressed. Not even a whole week and I want to get Zabini, there. Well, I hope everyone likes the new changes. If you even notice them. Reason for prolongued delay in everything. I no longer actually own a computer. Thank gosh that I go to college.


	5. Memory Lane and HalfBaked Plans

**Author's Note:**The first section of this story is either memories, nightmares, or both and occurs in time order. I am sorry about the minor formatting. This is going to be a more somber chapter, but there should be some action in the next chapter. Finally. –glee-

**Beta'a Note: **I love this new chapter! I wish I could live in your head for a while, maybe get some new ideas for my own fics…

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

**CHAPTER 4 : Memory Lane, Thoughts, and Half-Baked Plans**

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

**:: Memories and Dreams ::**

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

Only twenty of his fellow graduates had showed up to the ceremony.

All in attendance were pale with fear and the words were stone within the speakers mouths and the food ash in their stomachs All eyes watched both the exit and Harry as he sat stiffly in his chair, and everyone in attendance belong to the Order of Phoenixes. By the end of seventh year, the war had progressed far enough that the only reason a graduation ceremony had been conducted was to see if they could draw out any death eaters.

Every birthday and every holiday, all eyes turned to the Boy-who-lived. Harry had long since resigned himself to the fact that it was not in hope, but in fear for he was targeted each time. However, on the last day he was a Hogwarts student, he couldn't help his own fear that clung to his chest as he waited.

It only grew as nothing happened through the ceremony and the feast. The other guests relaxed a little. A smile from a few and then some talk about the future. Harry only sat waiting. Riddle never forgot. Ron and Hermione argued in one corner while the redhead's fiancé glared jealously at them, wondering exactly what they were talking about. No one bothered to talk to the silent boy-who-lived.

A black owl fluttered down from the rafters and dropped a bright red envelope in his hands before disappearing into the night. All conversation skid to a halt as soon as they notice the letter.

For the last year, the Dark Lord had been sending them. Afterwards, someone always died. Hermione said it was a form of mental terrorism; that it was all mind games to decrease the morality of those who fought against him.

Harry had long since stop thinking of them as games.

The letter opened itself and instead of screaming its message, Voldemort's voice echoed in the silent room without rising in volume. The message was short, concise, and was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Congratulations, Potter. You've graduated from Hogwarts. I hadn't thought you would." His voice was neutral as though he hadn't been trying to kill him for the last few years. The Dark Lord had lost the hissing quality to his voice when he'd been physically restored. Now, the voice that spoke could have been considered almost pleasant if you ignored what it was saying.

"Now that you are an adult, I do believe it is only fair I treat you as one. I've been there for every day that should bring you happiness. Almost like a parent, in fact. I've made sure you'd remember _each_ one. Now, I will have you suffer far more in payment for what you did before I see you dead." Another pause in the message.

"I hope you enjoy your present."

Harry Potter only stared at the ashes that remained of his letter as the graduating class looked outside to cry out in horror at the bodies hanging from the trees. Anger burned icy hot inside of him. Time would only tell who would be the one standing over whose grave.

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

"And the new Minister of Magic is Lord Lucius Malfoy."

The sound of applause seemed roar to the heavens and rattle the very windows of Diagon Alley's square. Cheering and smiles were on every face as he watched the blond pureblood saunter up to the pedestal. Waving grandly, the death eater cleared his throat.

"I am honored to accept this position. I am grateful for the support that I have…"

Turning from the crowd, the brunette pulled the deep hood closer around him. It would not due to be recognized in a square full of people who'd cheer Malfoy becoming the next Minister. This shouldn't have happened. So much had gone wrong and a sense of helplessness welled up inside of him.

Hermione had been missing for two weeks. Not a single word or even a clue as to where she'd gone. Her parents had been killed in an attack years ago and all whom he asked hadn't heard a word. She'd disappeared and he was beginning to lose hope. Could it be she'd been found?

No. _He_ would have laughed and announced to the world that the last friend of Harry Potter was dead. More and more, every defeat that they suffered was becoming a victory in the eyes of the magical people. The memories of people are quick to change when their very survival depends on it. History has the nasty habit of being written by the victors.

He disappeared among the people until he finally reached the Leaky Cauldron. The bar was empty of both patrons and bartender and he was able to quickly walk out the door.

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

_But instead of the muggle world, he walked right back into the empty Leaky Cauldron and was staring at Cedric. Forever frozen as the young teenager he'd been when he'd died, the other boy sat on one of the tables, eating a bright red apple. A bright smile on his face as he watched the cloaked hiding Potter with dead eyes._

"_Oh, Harry. You poor boy." Another bite of the apple. Lips painted red. "How you mourned me, never knowing that you should have saved your tears." Another bite and the world bleeds. "You should have thought of all the others who'd die before you."_

_Desperate laughter that only speaks of suffering as Ron stares past him, wand out, clothes stained with family blood. Fancy clothes torn and house burning to ash around him as he only whispers of revenge. "We need to kill them, Harry."_

_Ron. Stubborn Ron. Blind until the end. Only to finally see clearly things beyond horror._

"_We need to kill them all."_

_Sharp eyes peered down a sharp nose as Snape moved around his lab. A vial was picked up from one station here and then another from over there. Noticing him, the potion master turned and stared straight into his eyes until his mental fingers broke through every barrier, and Harry's every fault, every failure and every secret was stripped bare. Snape knew all and only shook his head in disappointment whispering of the foolish doomed plans of death-marked heroes._

_Sadistic laughter echoed and echoed as he watched Hogwarts' blind Seeress, the Some-Time Prophet, pick heroes like a maiden picks petals off a flower._

"_Hello, Hero."_

Pain.

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

:: **Xander's Loft, Ojai, Los Angeles**

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

Something was bothering Xander Cage as he lay awake and alone in his vast apartment. Only the soft sound of his breathing filled the apartment. Even as he mulled over JJ's words, that wasn't what was bothering him to the point of not sleeping.

He wouldn't deny that the new messenger boy of JJ's seemed nice and was wrapped in an almost sinfully delightful package. Even his personality seemed interesting and fiery. JJ always drew extremes to her. Hell, it was her business.

However, he couldn't get a sure bead on the man. True, he didn't seem _entirely_ wholesome, but that wasn't the problem. Why the hell did he want to work for JJ? What was in it for him? Normally this wouldn't bring sleepless nights to the agent, but there was also the matter of the file that was sitting on his kitchen table.

He wasn't as brainless as some would assume and the mysterious Harry was a dead ringer for the missing Potter. The boy in the picture looked far more innocent and confused then the real deal, but Scarface had warned him that Potter would be his kind of person. Xander could easily see how Harry could become dangerous given enough reason. However, it didn't seem fair to give him up to Gibbons.

At least, not until he found out exactly why the NSA was looking for Sparky.

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

**:: Hotel, Los Angeles ::**

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

A sharp gasp and ragged breathing signaled the boy savior's return to the waking world. Glazed eyes stared blankly up at the cracked ceiling as the Boy-Who-Lived tried to get his breathing under control. A cold sweat clung to his skin and his limbs trembled slightly. In the dim pre-morning light, the hotel room looked no better than it did in full daylight. The clock on the bed stand next to him mocked him with its flashing red analog numbers.

3:29 A.M.

Dreams were almost always laced with memories and half-truths. Aches from remembered pain radiated from his side and he silently traced the thick scar that was carved into the bone. He could easily feel it through the light cotton of his sleeping pants. Hermione once said (on a particularly bad night when they sat awake) that reality was almost always worse then what their minds could come up with and that was why their dreams were haunted with the past.

Pulling on a t-shirt, the brunette moved woodenly to the small desk in one corner. Spread across its length and the card table that he'd moved next to it, were piles of papers. It was mostly his almost illegible writing scrawled across the pages, but there were older pages there. The neat print of Hermione and the chicken scratch of Ron were among dozens of other scripts. A few books lay open, dog marked and worn. A particular one was bound in ancient leather and enclosed in a thick plastic bag.

It was time to start.

The small package that he'd retrieved from the post office had been charmed by Severus Snape. Traitor, spy, complete prick, not many people knew exactly which side the dark wizard played for. Harry believed that Snape played on Snape's side. He just knew for a fact that whatever schemes the potion master hid from him, none of them were for his immediate death or the Dark Lord's continued survival. The man had just as much reason to hate Tom Riddle as Harry himself and was far too honor bound to break two life-debts. As long as the bastard lord was dead and his soul burning in the deepest pits of hell, Harry could care less what else Snape planned for either world.

The small package was a long box made of an ebony wood. Carved with an elaborate assortment of runes, it was what was inside that mattered. Harry paused for a moment before taking out a large wickedly curved knife that would normally be strapped to his left thigh if he were wearing his robes. Quickly pricking his thumb, he watched a small ruby colored drop of blood form on his pale skin before smearing his bloodied thumb print onto one of the less obvious runes carved onto the left side of the box. A sharp crackling sound and the smell of ozone filled the room, before the lid popped open with a muted click.

Thirteen small vials full of colorless liquid that seemed to be continuously swirling filled the small space. Instead of the normal corked vials that potions were normally stored in, these seemed to more closely resemble the small vials of muggle medicine and attached to the top of the lid was a small ornate syringe with ruins etched into the old-fashioned metal casing.

A folded piece of parchment was placed between the vials. Unfolding it, Harry could easily recognize the curling penmanship of his most hated Hogwarts Professor.

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

_Potter,_

_Take each vial on their designated time. A calendar is included. Failure to take the specified vial within twenty hours of the designated time will result in the potion becoming useless and the high chance of cardiac arrest and/or complete mental and magical deterioration to all first-hand parties involved._

_Possible side effects are unknown. Vials and syringe were enchanted both to be unbreakable and for the entire thing to work. In no way, use magic on either and it would be suggested not to use it at all during the mentioned time due to personal strain._

_As mentioned in person, opening the box will begin the timeline._

_If the end result is death, assigned parties will be notified and move on with the secondary plan. However, it would be preferrable if you did not fuck everything up._

_-SS_

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

As Harry carefully drew out the clear liquid into the syringe it became apparently that the solution was magical in nature. Continuously swirling and withering, the liquid bent the light and scared the wizarding savior shitless. After seven years of fighting a losing battle and two more of planning and just trying to hold it together, they'd put the last of their hope into the next few weeks. If they didn't try it, it was highly unlikely they were ever going to figure out how to kill Voldemort. If they did try it, there was the chance they may not succeed.

After fifth year, the war had picked up. Harry had barely managed to stay in school long enough to finish his classes before the war effort dragged him and his classmates away. Those who would join the Dark Lord left early, sneering at the dying Dumbledore who could not escape the tick-tock of the aging clock. The rest hunted for far too long for the horcruxes, the pieces of Tom Riddle's soul that he'd scattered throughout the world. It had nearly broken them all when they discovered that the horcruxes were destroyed the moment the Dark Lord had regained full life and they had been searching for smoke rings.

Voldemort had new tricks up his sleeves and they had no idea what they were.

Harry had volunteered before the plan had been fully formed. If the cost of failure was death, he could ask no one else to step forward. Too many people had already been lost. Belt tight around one forearm, he carefully slid the needle into his skin just like Madame Pomfrey taught him. As the swirling potion disappeared into his veins, racing towards his heart, a chill spread through his skin until seemed to freeze his very soul.

Eyelashes fluttered and as he moved the needle out of his skin, his motor actions slowed down until finally he completely stopped moving. The needle slid out of lax hands and bounced on the desk as a thin layer of frost spread out over his skin until finally even his heart became inaudible to human senses. As his mind slowed, one last memory came to his conscious before even that faded to silence.

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

Hermione stared up at him, face expressionless as she sat amidst piles of books. Her wand lay next to her, half forgotten as it normally was these days as she practically drowned in magic and knowledge. Her voice was soft and almost broken as she spoke for the first time in days.

"Tell me, Harry. How much bloodshed would it take to kill a God?"

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

It was hours later that the silence ended, the ice shattered, and the sound of desperate laughter turning to broken sobs that filled the void that was left.

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

**:: Old Warehouse District, Los Angeles ::**

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

"What kind of person doesn't have a cell phone in this day and age?"

Harry looked up from the sidewalk to stare at the towering mass that was Xander Cage. The other man was leaning against the side of his employer's apartment and seemed to be trying to gaze into his soul. Dressed in heavy leather pants, the extreme athlete seemed to be almost radiating with excess energy.

"My kind." Harry muttered as he started to move past the man and into the apartment. However, before he could, a large hand against his chest stopped his movement. Annoyed, he turned to glare up at the other man. With a wicked grin, Xander motioned to the sleek red bike next to him and the two helmets that were sitting on the seats. The bike looked nothing like that of Sirius's and looked highly unsafe.

"Nu-uh. JJ gave you to me for the day. We have some scouting to go do for the dragon lady."

The NSA agent grinned at the brunette's face went pale in apprehension. Dark emerald eyes moved from the bike and back to his face. The other man had walked up the street like a specter, dressed in scarred thick leather pants and a long sleeved shirt. It was nice to see some sort of emotion cross that face even if it was of disbelief.

"You expect me to get on that with you? You have to be more brain damaged then I thought."

**----------------------------------------------xXx-------------------------------------------------**

**Beta's Note:** And wiped the smile right off Xander's face, eh?

**Author's Note:** Absol-fucking-lutely. And you wouldn't like to live in my mind. It is a scary place.


End file.
